Monday, 19 October 2009
Oh sweet white powder!
How you bring alive the sleeping cells with your white power.
You know well the mind’s needs.
Know well the neurons to turn;
The chemicals to release.
Know where to go, in both body and brain,
To liven up the mind and set the body on its edge.
White Power, you duplicate - with emphasis - those neuro-chemicals
Deep in the brain’s basin;
Which set the body on its edge again.
But the stirrings and edge of these givens
Are pale copies of the sharper edges and wilder stirrings White Power brings on.
In its razor-edged state, the body buzzes sharp.
Cells electrified by synaptic charges and other fine tunings in the pulsing brain.
Neurons, of just the right oscillation, conduct, in strict time, the myriad nerves
Which meander through limbs to perk-up the body to readiness.
The force that through the green fuse drives the flower is not enough for us.
That drove the other’s green age, lacks the verve to wrench us from TV.
The force that drives the water through the rocks leaves our blood tepid and still.
But White Power stirs all to flow to extremities.
Dylan’s bio-currents are weak and frail to us. To all us sad druggies.
It can’t rise to Power’s cerebral heights.
Yes! Yes! Of course we know!
We know of the slow way down to the dark inside,
When the mind envelops itself and switches off the sensory receptors to the concrete world.
That feeds on its own phantasms and distortions –
All spun out when cut off from the Real World.
The city-stench of routine, waste.
The wasteful routines.
The routine waste.